I closed my eyes.
Nana had carried my photograph with her.
Even while running.
Even while terrified.
She had taken a piece of me.
“There’s more,” Collins said.
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“We located Marisol.”
My entire body went rigid.
“Where?”
“At a shelter outside Sacramento.”
“Did she talk?”
“She agreed to an interview.”
“And the bracelet?”
Collins took a breath.
“She says a woman gave it to her three weeks ago.”
The room seemed to shrink around me.
“What woman?”
“She didn’t know her real name.”
“Describe her.”
“Mid-thirties to early forties. Tall. Pale eyes. Thick curly hair.”
Tears filled my eyes before Collins finished.
“Marisol said the woman asked her to sell the bracelet somewhere public.”
“Why?”
“She said, ‘Her mother will recognize it.’”
I began to sob.
Not quietly.
Not carefully.
The sound tore out of me after ten years of being trapped inside.
Claire held me as my knees gave way.
Detective Collins kept speaking through the phone.
“Mrs. Harrison, we believe Savannah may be alive.”
May be.
Two tiny words.
But they were enough.
For the first time in ten years, hope no longer felt like a ghost.
It felt like a trail.
And somewhere at the end of it, my daughter was waiting to be found.
Part 4
I didn’t realize I had fallen to the floor until Claire wrapped both arms around me.
The phone was still on speaker.
Detective Collins waited patiently while I struggled to breathe.
For ten years, every lead had ended the same way.
Dead ends.
Mistaken identities.
False hope.
This time was different.
Someone had deliberately sent the bracelet back to me.
Not by accident.
Not through chance.
Someone wanted me to find it.
“Detective…” I whispered.
“Yes, Mrs. Harrison?”
“You said the woman told Marisol my mother will recognize it.”
Collins corrected me gently.
“She said, ‘Her mother will recognize it.’”
The distinction mattered.
Whoever the woman was, she had spoken about me as though she knew exactly who I was.
She hadn’t simply sold an old piece of jewelry.
She had left a message.
A breadcrumb.
A signal.
My pulse raced.
“Did Marisol describe anything else?”
“She said the woman seemed nervous.”
“Nervous how?”
“She kept looking over her shoulder. She refused to give her name. She paid cash for a bus ticket immediately afterward and disappeared.”
“Where was the bus going?”
Collins paused.
“Portland.”
The room spun.
Everything pointed to Portland.
The train ticket hidden in Felix’s storage unit.
The bus schedule inside Carla’s abandoned car.
Now the bus ticket.
It couldn’t be another coincidence.
“When can I leave?” I asked.
“I was hoping you’d ask a different question.”
“I’ve waited ten years.”
“And I’m asking you to wait one more day.”
“Why?”
“We’re arranging something.”
“What?”
“We’ve requested surveillance footage from the terminal where Marisol met the woman.”
“After ten years, there’s still footage?”
“Not from ten years ago. From three weeks ago.”
Hope flared again.
“If we’re lucky, Savannah’s face is on one of those cameras.”
“I don’t care how blurry it is.”
“I know.”
Collins lowered her voice.
“But I need you to prepare yourself.”
“For what?”
“The woman may not be Savannah.”
